It flickers like candlelight,
Sparkling just long enough to draw you close.
Before the heat.
Then, like a clock, the burn.
You taste it, hear it lingering on his lips like a tune.
That lost promise with a hint of truth that you want so hard to believe.
You miss the step again as his hot breath caresses your cheek.
Flat.
Soft and warm and welcoming like the fruit’s flesh.
The tongue flickers and you almost turn back.
You slip away from him for breath.
But he speaks…
You perk with loss in that brevity of escape,
And the band snaps back.
Into his arms.
Into his lips.
Into his eyes.
Into his words.
Into his bed.
Fallen again.
Cut with the delicacy of a razor.
It won’t bleed now, but in a moment…
In that sweet, rapturous despondency when the sheets are cold,
And he’s gone.
The stain will remain.